


First Heartache

by Newrose12



Series: Before it all began [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Child Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2185314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newrose12/pseuds/Newrose12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case brings Sherlock and Molly together for the first time, and she helps prove that he is right about a case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Heartache

**Author's Note:**

> This was a tough one to write, this does involve the death of a child and Sherlock trying to be Sherlock while trying to solve the case.

The death of a child was never easy, and having to question the parents as to how their child had died was one of Greg's most hated jobs.

“He was a severe asthmatic,” the mother said from her husband's side, staring at him with wide eyes and trembling hands, “he must have had a fit. His inhaler was a foot away,” she said in a broken tone and turned in to her husband's shoulder.

“He knew he was to keep it with him at all times,” the father said, an empty and haunted look on his face, he had been the one to discover his son on the floor of his bedroom.

“You arrived at what time?” Greg asked, looking at the father.

“Just after five,” he replied, taking a deep breath, “I work only ten minutes away, he's home alone once he gets home from school until I get home. Alice,” he said, indicating his wife, “gets home later.”

“We never should have let him stay home alone,” Alice accuses, pulling back and glaring at her husband

“Alice, he was twelve years old, it was high time we stopped treating him like a baby,” he shot back and Greg could tell this might turn into a fight.

“Thank you for your time,” he broke in, “if I have any more questions, I'll be in touch.”

“When do we get him back?” Alice asked, stepping forward as he turned to leave the house, “we need to make arrangements,” she went on when he had turned.

“I'll let you know,” he replied, expressed his sympathy once again and exited the house. Once in his car, he took a shuddering breath and had to convince himself not to drive home to hug his own children, he still had a job to do after all.

\-------------------------------------

Molly Hooper stepped into the morgue, her cup halfway to her lips and stopped when she noticed a man standing over the only body in the room.

“Can I help you?” she asked, not recognizing the curly hair or the long, dark coat.

“I need to see his clothes,” the man replied as he moved around to the other side of the body and Molly stared.

“I'm sorry, who are you?” she demanded and he glanced up at her.

“Sherlock Holmes,” the man said and stood up straight, holding a syringe in his hand. “Is there a lab open?” he asked as he exited the room and Molly followed.

“Is that a syringe of blood?” she demanded, nearly running to keep up with the man's long strides.

“The labs are on the fourth floor, right?” he went on, ignoring her question completely.

“You can't take that child's blood!” Molly went on, making her way around him and causing him to stop in his tracks.

“I need to run an experiment,” Sherlock replied petulantly, looking upset that Molly was trying to stop him.

“Well, you can't!” she cried and made a grab for the syringe but the taller man easily moved it out of reach.

“Why not?” he demanded and she placed her hands on her hips and glared up at him.

“I don't even know who you are.”

“I told you, I'm Sherlock Holmes,” he said, trying to move around her but she got in his way.

“Well I hate to tell you this, but that doesn't mean anything to me, so give me the syringe and leave.” Sherlock stared at her for a long moment, assessing her until her hands dropped under his gaze and she seemed to shrink in on herself.

“M. Hooper,” he started and she glanced down at her name tag, “you are single, live alone with three, no, four cats, you keep to yourself, work long hours and spend more time with the dead than the living. You drink tea like any Brit, but you actually enjoy coffee more and you hope one day to find the love of your life, but worry that he doesn't actually exist.”

“What-?” she started to say, stunned and staring at Sherlock in a combination of awe and surprise.

“Excuse me,” he said and moved around her, her shock stopping her from trying to stop him.

\-------------------------------------------------------

“You can't just go around taking blood from corpses Holmes!” Lestrade yelled as he paced in front of Sherlock who was sitting on the other side of his desk.

“I was trying to run an experiment,” Sherlock tried to explain again, for the third time.

“On a twelve year old kid who died of natural causes, Holmes, remember the whole serial killer thing? This is a big red flag! You're lucky I talked them out of arresting you, what   
were you thinking?”

“That boy did not die of natural causes, well,” he said cocking his head to the side in thought, “natural causes but forced natural causes.”

“What?” Lestrade had stopped and turned to him and held up a hand when Sherlock opened his mouth, “you know what, never mind, I don't want to hear it. I know that it's been a while since I called you in on a case, but you can't go around creating one out of nothing.”

“If I could just take a look at his clothing-” Sherlock started to say but Lestrade shook his head.

“Leave it alone,” he warned, leaning against his desk and glaring at the other man, “don't go near that boy again, am I understood?”

“Of course,” Sherlock said, standing and straightening his coat before leaving the office and Lestrade collapsed into his chair and ran a hand over his face.

\-----------------------------------------------------

It was late and Molly knew she shouldn't be there, but she moved to enter the lab, taking one more quick look up and down the corridor, waiting for someone to pop out, but it didn’t happen so she quickly pushed inside. Flicking on one light overhead, she made her way to one of the labs and took a seat.

“You’re here a bit late,” a voice from the corner of the room had her shrieking and caused her to nearly drop the vial of blood. She spun around and found a tall man detaching himself from the shadows and she glared.

“Mr. Holmes,” she said her voice sharp, “I was told you were not allowed back here.”

“And I was told there was nothing else to this case,” he said, moving towards her, “but here you are, nearly two in the morning with that vial of blood. Why?” Molly was silent for a long moment, searching his eyes for something.

“Something you said,” she replied finally, turning to place a slide with a drop of blood under the microscope.

“And what was that?” Sherlock asked, moving next to her, wanting to push her aside so he could see but refrained, barely.

“You said he didn’t die naturally, and something about it made me think you were right,” she said, moving aside to allow him to look.

‘His blood was reacting to something,” he said after he had looked and pulled back.

“Right,” she said and turned to a folder she had also brought into the room with her, “my superiors said to leave it alone, but the thought of that boy dying alone…” she trailed off before shaking her head. “His fingers were blue,” she said, opening the folder and pulling out a picture which she handed over, “the coroner says it was from cyanosis, but I think   
it was from something else.” Pulling out another picture, she handed it to him, this one was of his foot. “Here,” she said pointing to one of his veins, “it looks like an injection site.”

“Was there a full autopsy done?” he asked, looking closely at the picture and seeing what she was talking about.

“No, the parents refused, said they wanted the body as soon as possible, they believed he died of an asthma attack, so he did. They took his body earlier this evening.”

“Strange,” Sherlock said turning back to the blood, “what could he have reacted to? If it wasn’t asthma what was it?”

“The only thing that the boy was deathly allergic to, was penicillin,” Molly pointed out, laying a paper on top of the photo which listed his allergies, which were many, but she was right about the penicillin. “And if administered to someone who is deathly allergic to it, it does show signs like an asthma attack, blue skin, trouble breathing. I didn’t find any hives, but he may have thought he was having an asthma attack and tried for his inhaler.”

“But who could have administered it?” Sherlock asked, mostly to himself but he saw Molly open her mouth before closing it again with a click. “What?”

“I shouldn’t say anything,” she said, shaking her head.

“Ms. Hooper, please, if someone administered this to him, they could walk free unless we prove that they did it.”

\----------------------------------------------------

“You’d better be right, Holmes,” Greg said, standing next to Sherlock as he rang the doorbell, “I’ll catch hell if you’re not.”

“And yet when you do catch the killer you’ll be welcomed as a hero,” the other man said glancing at him.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade, what can I help you with?” Alice Townsend said, with a sad smile when she opened the door, glancing at Sherlock with curiosity.

“I’m sorry to disturb you ma’am,” Lestrade said, taking a deep breath, “but can we take another look at Damien’s room?”

“Why?” she demanded, becoming defensive quickly and Sherlock’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Please Mrs. Townsend,” Greg tried again and the woman seemed to collapse in no herself before allowing them to enter. 

“Detective inspector,” Adam, Damien’s father said, coming from the kitchen and looking at him in surprise, “what are you doing here?”

“They want another look at Damien’s room,” Alice said, moving to her husband’s side.

“Why?” Adam asked, he wasn’t defensive like his wife, just curious.

“Just need to clear some things up,” Greg responded and they followed them up to their son’s room where the door had been closed tightly.

“Damien was found here?” Sherlock asked, standing over the spot where the boy had been found.

“Yes,” Adam responded, holding his wife tightly.

“And where was his inhaler?” Sherlock asked, looking over his shoulder as he squatted down to examine the carpet.

“A foot away from him,” Greg responded, feeling more and more awkward as the minutes ticked by.

“Hmm,” Sherlock responded, before moving around the room and checking drawers, “he has an inhaler here,” he said pointing to the bedside table, “why didn’t he reach for it?”

“I- I don’t know,” both parent’s responded and Sherlock nodded.

“Is the rest of the room exactly as it was?” he asked turning to the parents who nodded.

“We haven’t changed anything since that day,” Alice said quietly, looking around the room with a haunted look.

“Mr. Townsend,” Sherlock said, turning to them suddenly, “ you arrived first and found him, is this correct?”

“Yes,” Adam replied, surprised by the sudden question.

“What did you do when you found him, did you call 999 right away, call your wife?”

“I called an ambulance right away, yes and when they were on their way, I called Alice.”

“What time did she arrive?” Sherlock went on, moving about the room, looking through papers on the boy’s desk.

“Around six-thirty, I believe,” the husband said, looking at his wife for confirmation.

“Don’t you think it odd,” Sherlock said from where he had stopped near the dresser where the boy’s cell phone lay, “that it took her an hour and half to arrive?”

“I was busy,” Alice defended herself, “I couldn’t get away.”

“Most employers will give their employees time to leave if one of their relatives are killed, especially a child,” Greg pointed out.

“Well mine wouldn’t, I asked but was denied.”

“Funny,” Sherlock responded this time, “we spoke to your employer, they said you said nothing to them and finished your shift, you were off of work at six o’clock.”

“Alice,” Adam said, pulling back to look at her.

“They’re lying Adam,” she said, shaking her head, “I asked, I did, they wouldn’t let me go.”

“We found penicillin in Damien’s blood,” Greg broke in and both turned to him.

“That can’t be,” Adam said, shaking his head, “he’s allergic, he’ll die.” It broke Greg’s heart to hear the father talk about his son like he was still there.

“But yet, it was still there,” Sherlock said and picked up the cell phone. “Mrs. Townsend, you are a nurse,” it wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” she answered anyway.

“So you have access to penicillin?”

“What are you implying?” Adam demanded, taking a step towards Sherlock.

“Just that your wife killed your son,” the other man replied and Greg had to react quickly and stop Adam from hitting him.

“How dare you!” he cried and Sherlock held up the phone.

“Damien wasn’t looking for his inhaler, he was trying to reach his phone,” he said, “I’m not sure how she did it, but she injected him with penicillin, perhaps he was asleep. He woke up, thinking he was having an asthma attack, reached for his inhaler, found it to be lacking and tried for his phone, which was on the other side of the room. Unfortunately for him, the penicillin did its worse before he could reach it.”

“That’s absurd!” Adam cried, “Alice, tell them that’s absurd,” he said, turning to his wife who looked stricken and was crying. “Alice?’

“You don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head and looking at her husband, pleadingly, “he was so much work; the medical bills were piling so high. He was allergic to everything; we could barely take him outside without his medicines or worry that he might have a fit.”

“Alice…” Adam said, staring at his wife in horror, “why?”

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” she denied as Greg moved forward to place her under arrest, “I just wanted to prove that he couldn’t be trusted at home alone.”

“By killing him?!” Adam exploded but Alice said nothing, just looked away in shame as Greg started to lead her down the stairs.

“I am sorry,” Sherlock said as he went to follow Greg and Adam turned to him, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“What am I supposed to do now?” he asked and Sherlock couldn’t answer, because he didn’t know.

\------------------------------------------------------

“You solved the case,” a voice said from the dark and it nearly had Molly shrieking and dropping her cup of coffee.

“Mr. Holmes, please stop doing that,” she said, barely glancing at him as she made her way into the lab.

“Call me Sherlock, please,” he said as he moved forward, “you did, you know.”

“Right, I helped solve who murdered Damien, but what about his dad, he not only lost his only child, his wife is now going to prison, and he’s alone.”

“Yes, but at least she won’t get away with it,” he pointed out and Molly blew out a breath.

“I’m glad of that, really I am, it’s just… he shouldn’t have died that way, alone and scared,” she said, shaking her head.

“No he shouldn’t have,” was the response.

“Did you need something?” she asked him after a few minutes of silence between them.

“Just to say thank you for your help and to congratulate you on a case solved.”

“Thank you,” she said, turning to him, “you too.”

“Goodbye Ms. Hooper,” he said, “and thank you again for believing me,” he said and kissed her forehead before leaving the lab. “Also, don’t listen to your superiors, they’re idiots, always trust your gut,” he said with a wink as he slipped out the door. Molly found herself grinning and touching the place on her forehead where he had kissed, a blush on her cheeks.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I know i probably didn't get everything right when it came to cyanosis and asthma, I just Googled it, so if I got something wrong, sorry, I'm no expert and that's what I could find.


End file.
